The Galactic Center
by ShabbyJinkens
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is the guy that lives across the way from me... And I'm pretty sure he either A. Is an escaped psychopath from the nut house, or B. Is an alien. Actually it's the latter, just to kill the suspense. Summarizing everything you need to know.. He's a fine disco dancer, and wants to assassinate the president of the universe.
1. The Man Across the Way

The Man Across the Way 

_Can I tell you a secret? Before the series Twilight gained any traction, and before any other curious library dweller could snag it, I checked out the very first novel by Stephenie Meyer. I didn't even fault her for her name being spelled wrong. That wasn't her choice, not really. It was more so her mother's. Let it be known that I loved her book. Truly. And I say this with great shame. I'd been perhaps, what, thirteen? That doesn't quite excuse me of the crime, but it explains it. Now being well into my ever exciting adulthood life, I can't bear to admit that little tidbit about myself to a soul. Well. I suppose I'd admitted it to the man that lived in apartment 305B, but he… He's a special case. I've deleted the word basket for the sake of our friendship, but it's there like the silent letter in a disturbingly difficult word to spell._

_Twilight. I've brought it up for a reason other than to feel utter mortification. It's a precious secret of mine, and like anyone else, I've guarded that secret with my life. Perhaps a bit dramatic, but what's a man to do? I'd rather die than let the world know. I've only mentioned it to you because this is a memoir, and I'm likely on my way to an untimely death by now anyway. Undoubtedly, I'm probably sprawled out on a bed of moss, bleeding out as you read this, listening to swing. My best mate has the strangest taste in music. He says he's got class. I say he's just got character. Which is a polite way of saying he's terribly eccentric, so eccentric in fact, his pet oyster's name is Eloise. It's curious really, why I'd even bothered to get to know him. It's even more curious how he managed to get me infatuated with his storybook fantasies and outrageous theories. But he did. And that's the point I'm trying to make, I think. He had a secret too. A secret that was far more peculiar, and far more interesting, than an embarrassing affinity for a book series revolving around pedophilia, personality-lacking husks, and abusive relationships. A secret that made me want to do the impossible with him. _

_I've neglected to say this, as I thought it was obvious from the beginning, but this is my life's story. At least, from the moment I met the man from apartment 305B. He started the plot, I believe, the moment he knocked on my door and inquired if I had a teaspoon of olive oil to spare at precisely 2:11AM, April 11th. So I'll begin there._

**Q.**

_[Disregard that Q.]_

April 11th

My eldest brother had arrived at my doorstep, smelling charmingly of skunks like the awful omen he was. I don't believe it had been an intentional sort of visit. No, I don't think he's planned a thing in his life. He'd merely shown up, absently belched, and after ruffling my hair to a satisfactory extent, shuffled into my apartment and towards the couch residing in my living room. We hadn't spoken. We were never very close, understand, and so normal communication always boiled down to awkward gestures and facial expressions. It was like we spoke two different languages, really. This tended to make interactions particularly uncomfortable, for me mainly. I hadn't the heart (or bravery) to ever relay my intellectual observation of our relationship to him, though. I believe it had taken me moments to recover from the shock of his unannounced visit. Still very disturbed, I trudged into my living room. We looked at one another. Him, bored, I, bothered. "Have you come to make sure I haven't keeled over in the absence of your fine presence? I haven't. So really, you needn't stay for long." He scratched at the scuff of hair on his chin in response. I already warned you, our conversations tended to consist of gestures and expressions. He was doing quite a very good job at it, too. He was clearly the veteran, seeing as I'd broken our customary silence first.

He made a motion moments later for me to move a few inches to the left, so that he could focus upon my television. A television, which, mind you, had a turquoise heel lodged into the middle of its screen. I have the most interesting exes. "How about'cha fetch me a beer, sheep?" He mumbled, thick fingers mashing at buttons on my universal remote. Unsurprisingly, the television only sputtered, but did little more than that in terms of changing to different channels or even turning on for that matter. "My name is Arthur. I'm practically twenty-four, for God's sake." I replied, hot and uncomfortable. I was about as pale as a dead man, and so blatantly blushing was just plain unavoidable for me. A tan would be nice, but while some people soaked up sun like sponges, I roasted in it like a pig in the bowels of hell. "Arthur, twit, _sheep. _Beer." Needless to say, I fetched him the next closest thing I had in my humble abode. An energy drink. We looked at one another as I handed it off to him. He glowered. The door was knocked upon. There were three distinct raps. Then a fourth. Then a beat was hammered out against it. I recall it being vaguely similar to that of the _Fresh Prince _opening. I skittered off to answer before the lunatic at the door decided to break out into song along with it. Also, more importantly, I wanted to get out of my brother's glower. It had already singed a few hairs off of my brow from how fiery and hateful it had been. It was his fault for asking for a beer of all things, anyhow. He knew I didn't touch the stuff.

"It's late. Are you on fire? Is your cat on fire?" I said very reasonably.

"I actually have an oyster. But no, neither of us have had the honor of spontaneously combusting." The stranger had responded, just as reasonably. Or, as reasonable as one can sound after having admitted they own a live oyster. "Favor, neighbor. Got olive oil? A teaspoon. No more, no less."

Note: The Orlorkian Oyster 

_It is not known why it is that the oyster lives in every galaxy, and even in some realms outside of the observable universe. It is known however, that they are particularly helpful as an advisor in directions and in your love life. They were made popular in the Gorgon Planetary System, where a dwarf planet in particular held a species of party lovers. Said species discovered the oyster to be an intellectual naturally inclined to spout love fortunes and routes to desired destinations. However, it only seems to work if the owner of the oyster happens to be drunk to a hospitalization point. The Orlorkian Oyster is strangely responsible for the most lost wanderers in history, but hey, maybe they just weren't drunk enough to understand it. Still gives a damn good love fortune. _

I squinted at him. "…No, but I've 'got' milk." He laughed like it was the funniest come back he'd heard since, 'your mom'. I imagined at the time he likely didn't have the wittiest friends. Or more accurately, likely didn't have friends at all. I was still hung up on the oyster note.

"Funny. I like you, neighbor. So. Seriously. Olive oil?" It was as though I had been speaking to a very young one track minded child, with hearing problems to boot. "I've already told you no. I hadn't said it just to be clever. Try someone else." He'd scowled, eyes, which were a rather striking but unremarkable blue, narrowing. "Check. Everyone has olive oil." I sighed. Massaged my temple. From the living room, I'd heard a, "This energy drink tastes like nuclear piss!" I'd sighed more. It was too late at night. What had I been doing originally? I think I'd been sleeping. Like a normal citizen.

"Just… Just wait here." And with that being said, I shuffled off. Or rather, skittered. I was a bit like a cat in the respect of movement, even when tired. I have this terrible paranoia that something, at any moment, will jump out from behind a corner and give me a massive concussion via noogie. Oh. A traumatizing childhood is the best sort of childhood. In my pantry, I discovered, amazingly… Olive oil. Huh. Suppose an ex of mine must've left it. Lord knows I never cooked anything but instant ramen on the stove. "Here's the bottle. Take it all." I said upon my return to the door, handing it to him in a dramatized weary manner.

He smiled at me, my neighbor, with the sort of smile more suitable for a thoroughly satisfied shark. I had the most sensible need to shudder then, but there was a more muddled call from my living room, and my shudder was needed for that instance instead. "Good night to you." He said in an 'I suppose I won't shred you into fleshy bits, mortal' sort of way. Then he made his merry way to apartment 305B, right across from mine, which was 306B. Supposedly the man living there before me had died of asphyxiation. The whole mess was corndog related. But I don't believe it had anything to do with foul play—I'm a vegetarian anyhow. No one's going to catch me deep throating a deep fried slab of massacred innocent creatures, so I doubt I'll ever go that way… Hm. What was I saying? Ah yes. 306B. I tried not to consider the possibility of my neighbor being a maddened individual bent on murdering via corndog as I shut my door.

The remainder of that night consisted of me bearing with my brother's babbling. It had been something irrelevant to me. His wife had changed the locks, or something like that. Accused him of leeching off of her bank accounts for gambling money, supposedly, though that did sound like something he'd have the gall to do. I honestly didn't care enough to even entertain the idea of being an understanding sibling. I just sort of bobbed my head along to the rhythm of his voice, pausing whenever he stopped to sip at the Monster I'd given him. "Alistair, if I may, perhaps you should just prove you haven't cheated her?" I'd said at some point, positioned precariously on the edge of my coffee table. He'd stared.

"It doesn't matter if I did or if I didn't, it matters that she locked thuh bleedin' doors you brainless prat!" He raged the moment after I blinked, losing in the staring competition. "Haven'tcha been listenin'? Eh? I can't get in!"

"_Ah_. My mistake."

"She's got no head."

"Clearly, headless."

"I fucking hate the woman. I shouldn't have married her."

"Oh, undoubtedly."

He ranted and raved a bit more. I must've fallen asleep, though, because I woke up a while later with a sewer reeking leather jacket tossed over my shivering form, which was sprawled out on the floor. Untangling my limbs, I sat up and envisioned a large mallet smacking into my brother's head, effectively murdering him and leaving his wife and kids with a hefty amount of his life insurance. I don't' know why it's the first thing that came to my sleep hazed mind. Perhaps that's just how I showed affection. "Have you gone home?" I called in that same affectionate manner. There was a gesture made from the kitchen. Still here then.

I sighed. Stood up. Stretched. Incidentally, that was around when there were three sharp distinct raps. A fourth. Then a beat following it in that same fashion from last night. This, I believe, was the opening to Law and Order, Criminal Intent. _Oh hell_, I'd thought in exasperation. The olive oil lad. Upon opening the door, foul funked jacket tossed over my shoulders and hair a wild muss of chewed upon hay, I stood brazen and shameless.

"Do you need a bit of sugar now? Might go nicely with whatever bomb you've constructed in your bathroom, I'm sure." He stared. Laughed.

"You don't make bombs with olive oil, neighbor. Or at least, I wouldn't. Might be a recipe for disaster!" It was my turn to stare. "I actually came to ask you if you've seen any children running in the hall." I waited. Frowned when he'd didn't expand upon that sentence.

"…Then ask." He frowned in return.

"I just did."

"No, sir, you said you came to ask. You haven't yet." We stared at one another a while longer.

"Golly, you'd make a great protagonist wouldn't you?" _Golly?_ I laughed this time. I did so heartily. He cleared his throat.

"…Er. Yes, well, about why I've come over… Have you seen any kids running around?" I considered the question.

"…Do I look like I've been put in an awkward position to either call CPS, or turn a blind eye to child neglect?" I returned in jest. Unfortunately it didn't appear as though he quite caught that fact.

"I wouldn't neglect a child with a ten foot pole!"

We stared at one another.

"That didn't entirely make much sense…" I pointed out thoughtfully.

"Did you see the kids or not, neighbor?"

A sigh was expelled. Mine, I think.

"No."

"Well that's not possible—!" He began, but alas he was cut off by a well-timed groan from my ever adored brother, who came lumbering by the door to peer out at the strange neighbor with an affinity for oysters and olive oil. "We don't want any." He said, rubbing at his eyes. "He's not selling anything." I grumbled in response. My neighbor shifted. Considered something.

"I actually am selling relics from Poland, if that's your cup of tea. Me? I'm a coffee guy."

"That has the potential to be racist, sir…" I'd pointed out in the same thoughtful manner.

"Don't be ridiculous! I love you limey folk. You sir, with the hellfire hair! Have you any interest in the remnants of the Polish civilization?" I wrinkled my nose. Alistair had raised a curious brow.

"Remnants? Did something recently destroy Poland? I haven't heard of a recent catastrophe…"

"Oh. Then never mind." The strange man seemed to retract the offer altogether, suddenly very interested at peering at his wrist as though he was looking at the time. Alas there was no watch to help feign the act, and so I imagined he was planning to say 'it's a quarter passed a freckle'. Some rubbish like that. Instead he said very honestly,

"I don't have a watch on. Bye."

And with that he skittered off to the apartment across the hall from mine in a puff of irregular smoke.

Dear God. When did my floor get so abnormal?

"When did your floor get so abnormal?" My brother inquired. He then added very seriously, "And when was Poland knocked off the map? First I've heard of it."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So clearly, the whole story is going to be a bit of a space comedy. I'm getting really tired of reading all the gloom and doom of angst. So. This is just going to be a stress reliever, and probably won't make sense most of the time. The 'note' part will likely only show up if I feel like it might help to explain away some weird plot hole or something. XD Plus it has a very 'Hitchhiker's Guide to Galaxy' feel, neh? I loved that book, and am currently working my way through the series. Which I suppose is why I'm writing my story just like it... I tend to idolize. Eh. First story on Fanfiction, anyhow. Hope I finish it. ^_^ Thanks for reading. **


	2. And So it Begins

And So it Begins

Still April 11th 

I know what you're wondering, and no, I don't actually have a job of any sort. I'm a writer, truth be told... A starving one. Which doesn't make it too nice, knowing there's a heel stuck in my one and only television set. I spent the afternoon listening to my brother have a screaming match with his wife, while I typed away to add to my currently going no-where story. At some point, I believe I got up the nerve to go across the way to visit my neighbor with a bit of pie. Was this me being friendly? No. It was me offering an edible bribe so that the man didn't bother with coming by ever again. I planned to be as politely unfriendly as possible.

Knocking with my left curled fist, I waited for an answer. Waited. _Waited longer_. I'm sure you can see where this was going... Eventually I was irritated to the point of turning the knob, because by God, I was the protagonist and would not be kept waiting when I was trying to be politely unfriendly!

Inside of apartment 305B... There was nothing. No furniture. No trash. Not a single article or sign that someone was living there. Well. There was a bottle of olive oil on the carpeted floor. My bottle of olive oil. My neighbor peered up at me, and I might've found this all to be only a tad strange... But it was much, much worse than a tad.. Because he was holding up a spoon of oil over an oyster. An oyster, which of whom was longer than a vending machine and wide as a plump, overweight gorilla.

I must've fainted, because the moments between that were blurry. When I came to I was lying on a couch. It was warm. Fleshy. Actually, it hadn't been a couch, but rather a very much alive young man, viewing me with unremarkable but curious blue eyes.

"You."

"Neighbor."

"My name is Arthur…"

"Artie."

"I don't know you that well, sir…"

"I'm Alfred, and you stink. What more is there to know?"

_True enough_. I let the entire conversation go, for fear that it would reach into a deeper irrelevancy.

"Why are you holding me?"

"Beats me like a really loving husband."

"…_What?" _

"I mean I don't know."

"I understood that much… But your metaphor was inappropriate and completely offensive."

"Are you a victim of abuse? 'Cause that guy really looked more like an average Joe than an aggressive Steve."

"He was my brother."

"Ah."

"Ah indeed."

We lay in silence a while longer. I suppose it wasn't so bad, sharing warmth and all that. But that begged the question, why were we lying like that anyhow? I didn't ask. The day had been weird enough already. Moving to roll from atop him, I hit the floor. There was a clicking of a tongue and I stood immediately, backing away from the... _Thing._ The plate that had held the pie seemed to be all but empty.. Alfred's lips were filthy with crust crumbs. I hadn't got my chance to be unfriendly... Great.

I don't think he was aware of just how uncanny of a guy he appeared to be to me, but even if he was I don't believe he'd care much to do anything but shrug. Oh look at me. One day I'd known the guy, and was already guessing his responses in our short conversations.

"…Should I call 911?"

"Nah. But you should definitely take a shower. See you around. By the way, you drool when you're unconscious. Might wanna work on that."

One word to describe Alfred the neighbor: _Unbelievable._

My own apartment was significantly more welcoming, and there I did in fact shower. I ignored the urge to kick out my brother, seeing as he offered his own version of normalcy in gestures and facial responses. "…So. I've never much cared about you really." He'd said when we sat on the couch together much later on, him picking his nails, I studying the blue heel lodged into my television screen. "I know." I replied absently, considering taking it out. "Oh, good." I figured that would be the extent of our discussion, but he continued on. "So you won't mind me staying a while longer." Hm. What a strange conclusion to come to. We sat a while longer, enveloped by silence. Eventually there was a knock. Three distinct ones. A fourth. I answered before any beat could follow.

"Alfred." I breathed out irritably.

"Neighbor!" He cried in response, taking a hold of me by the neck and ruffling my hair as though we were very good friends. I don't believe he quite understood our relationship dynamic.

"Stop it! Now, if you could please…" My brother interrupted, trudging behind me.

"No, tell me about this Poland mess."

"What about Poland? I'm scarcely sure I can see you." He replied, which was an effective silencer.

There was an appropriate pause in the conversation.

"…I believe you meant hear, sir." I said pointedly.

"I believe you smell a hell of a lot better. Is that pomegranate? Jesus, it's intoxicating." He took a whiff of my hair. I was revolted. My brother was amused.

"No it's a stench meant to repel bothersome strangers. What do you want? And Alistair shut up about Poland! He's clearly a deranged nutter, don't encourage him." Alistair scowled accordingly. Made a gesture with his middle finger.

The man clutched at his heart, dry humor following suit. "Monsieur, you wound me! Listen, I actually came to do you a favor. Come on. "

There was no room for argument. He tugged at my wrist and led me away. My brother watched, middle finger still raised. He must've eventually closed the door though, because there was a laugh and a slam. I've never depended on Alistair in my life, but it'd be particularly nice if he at least tried to feign concern about my wellbeing.

Upon reaching a designated zone that was in the dog park across the street, I was shoved into an oak tree. There was the soft buzz of electricity and life… A crackle of shadows every time a wind blew by. "Why are we here?" I don't know why I asked. Truly, based upon past events, nothing ever made much sense with this guy anyhow. But he said to me completely straight faced,

"Because the red coats are coming."

And then proceeded to shut his eyes tightly and pucker his lips at me, I turned my head accordingly, thoroughly unsettled and confused.

"Alfred, I don't think—"

There was a hiss of energy. Another crackle of black shadows. Then thick, white spotted, gruesome lobsters at ungodly sizes penetrated the sky… And I again for the second time that day, with very much dignity, fainted.

Upon coming to, I realized I was lying on my face in a congealed sort of jelly. It was cold. So cold that it burned me. I think I might've screamed, but the noise of it was muffled. Which I suppose I was glad for. A hand smoothed my mess of mangled blonde hair. Then it proceeded to tug, pulling me up. I sat on my bottom. Blinked away my tears.

"…Alfred?" I tried, helplessly. There was a reasonably high percentage that he was nearby. And as I suspected, he was. In fact he was the one that had apparently grabbed my hair, seeing as he still had it in his grasp. He was breathing down my neck, breath cold and morphing into slime-like mucus upon making contact with my skin. Very sexy and all that. "Hey, neighbor." He replied with his usual optimism, creating more of that slime like substance and causing me to shudder in revulsion accordingly. "Where are we?" Releasing my hair, he hummed thoughtfully. There was a vibration beneath us, and beneath the jellied surface. The vessel groaned, but it was beyond my realm of comprehension just what 'the vessel' was. It certainly wasn't a car.

"Inside an Anthrovian's stomach."

I considered asking what an Anthrovian was, but settled for asking a different, less brain taxing question.

Note: The Spotted Anthrovian Lobster 

_The ship of choice for any poor space connoisseur and traveler, would be a Spotted Anthrovian Lobster. While not the most attractive of creatures, the Anthrovian does not desire pay of any sort. In fact the only thing an Anthrovian desires is to scurry about the universe like a proper space roach. Though... It is particularly unknown whether they think or feel, or mind. Most species just sort of figure it's cool with them, seeing as the things never speak or complain. In the future there might be an Anthrovian Revolution, but for now they're just living vehicles that skitter at the speed of light. They tend to be pest-like creatures, so there's plenty of them skittering all over the place in the Universe. _

"Am I dreaming?"

"Eh. Beats me like a rotting cadaver. I could just be a figment of your imagination that gained sentient abilities."

"Alfred, that's still entirely inappropriate and offensive. Plus you're not making any sense. At all."

He hummed, his breath hitting my neck in frothy slime once more. Why was it so cold? More importantly, what had gone on in the time of my unconsciousness?

"And I'd just like you to know I don't fancy daft sanity-lacking lunes. So please don't ever try anything funny again."

"Huh? Oh. I forgot, your people have a way different way of communicating… I was summoning an Anthrovian from the fleet."

"Summoning? Like _witchcraft_?!" I didn't bother pointing out that not only was it a peculiar way to make a collect call, but also that all of this was relatively impossible anyhow.

"No, like heroism. We'd have been trapped on Earth with everybody else, frying, if I hadn't done it."

"Why in God's name did you take me with you?!"

"Eh. Dunno."

"I need to go home!" I shrieked that hysterically I think, as I stood, scrambling in the strange jelly-like contents of the supposed stomach we were in. It took me all of two minutes to realize there was a door positioned just a ways away from me, snuggly placed between the wet throbbing walls of what was probably a throat. Oddly enough, the whole stomach ordeal wasn't the most traumatic. Smelled a bit like daises and peanut butter in there.

I'd opened the door, stumbling into a marble, surprisingly clean white room. There was exactly one man there, and he seemed as surprised as I was when we made eye contact. He had a toothpick hopping between his thin lips, and looked like the sort that probably drank when he wasn't busy laughing at nothing at all. He also had a third eye peering out from the center of his neck and it unsettled me, but I did my best not to stare openly. He was pale. Sickly pale, and his skin seemed to wrinkle and crawl in unison with his increasing agitation. With all three red eyes light and brilliantly shining, he made a come hither motion, though apparently it was not for me, seeing as Alfred passed my dripping form and responded as followed:

"Jeez, I thought I was toasted like a batch of whole wheat bread. Thanks Nivvy."

"Don't call me that. Who's the stiff?" Leaned back in his thick leathery chair, he viewed me with what was either contempt or relief. Perhaps a mix of the two, though it was mainly contempt he preferred to express whenever we made eye contact.

"My neighbor."

"I swear I'll strangle you. I say 'hey, we're doing an invasion in about four years, man. It's gonna be wild. Wanna join?' You say, 'eh, sure, but let me check out the planet first. Might be fun'. And just like _usual _you find some ugly kicked puppy to drag along with us around the universe, until you get bored. Then you kick the damn thing off on some random abandoned plane of existence!"

"Well it's no wonder he doesn't listen—how _rude. _I am by no means an ugly, kicked puppy." I don't know why I interrupted his lecture. I just knew I was nobody's pet. Disregard the fact that I was standing in a room that was lodged into the throat of a space lobster.

"Aw, Nivvy… Look at him, standing up for himself against a Nivolton of all things! He's just great. He's got this knack for sarcasm. It's really impressive."

Note: The Nivolton 

_The Nivolton is a species of triclops' (not to be confused with Triclops from the Masters of the Universe) that is closely related to an Earth groundhog. Oddly enough, that being said, they have no characteristics of said groundhog. Beyond the fact that they eat and party in the summer, and tend to become recluses in the winter, anyhow. To befriend a Nivolton would be a wise decision only if you desire a very predictable, obnoxious creature, that is prone to loyalty but that cannot be trusted as they tend to break promises. That being said… They're great partiers, and terrible friends. Also, they were responsible for the collapse of their very own planet—they blew it up for a celebration and bought a dwarf planet in the Gorgon System with the money stolen and pirated from their elderly. The elderly, which they proceeded to chuck into the vacuum of space afterwards. Who wants a grandpa complaining about his third eye needing Lasik surgery, and drinking up all the funds for things like health care? Honestly… My only advice? Don't fuck with a Nivolton in the Spring or the Summer, unless you plan to repay one with booze._

"Stop calling me that! Ugh. Get it out of my sight. I'm allergic to sarcasm." Ironically, he began to break out in hives, which he scratched at irritably.

"My name is Arthur!" How many times had I said that today?

"I don't care if your name is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo!" I parted my lips to inquire who that was, but then the 'ship' shook with a terribly frightening tremor, a sort of screen appeared in the empty space behind that leathery chair, and the Nivolton's third eye shut tight with fright. Who's face showed, I didn't know. It was tan… Warm. With a set of brown eyes, where skin seemed to crinkle around every time a smile was made. Little did I know that the man was in fact Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. But even if I had known that, I wouldn't have known that he was the president of the Universe.

Note: Antonio Fernandez Carriedo 

_The most recent of presidents in the long line of Carriedo presidents, he has been serving the Universe for precisely nine years. Many see him as benevolent, though far too trusting for his position. Though the Universe does in fact have a system of government vaguely resembling a democracy, most times he rules it himself, treating all branches more like advisors than people with actual power. He is the most favored president out of all of the Carriedo presidents, seeing as he has yet to blow up a star for the hell of it or to commit a terrible crime publicly and get away with it, which is a very common thing for most presidents to do at some point in their reign. A president can serve for as long as they like, but most eventually get fed up with all of the paperwork and quit after about two years and a month. Antonio is the first president to force branches of the government to deal with the paperwork instead, leaving most of his time open for the press and for the people. As every Carriedo is of the Loriolon race, a race known for its deception and love for fire, they do tend to be terrible presidents... It is unknown why the Universe still elects a Carriedo president every election. _

"Alfred F. Jones… And Gilbert Beilschmidt. Glad to see you're both working on those partnership issues. I was worried the flames had died out."

A strained, "It's not like that. And it never will be." Came in a hiss from the humanoid who was apparently 'Gilbert'. He appeared annoyed and embarrassed for a moment, seeing as his toothpick had stopped in its fun loving bounce.

"Yes, well. About the stellar black hole you created. You know those twins that it spit out? Did Alfred get rid of those things? They're nothing but trouble. I can turn a blind eye to you guys creating the hole, but they seriously have to be exterminated before the news reaches a galactic press. You know how we are about _twins._"

Note: Twins 

_For as long as any species can remember, twins have always been a sign of bad things to come. They are birthed from black holes, and are typically lean creatures that can stand just about any environment. Even the harshness of a black hole, which is their 'mother'. Twins are often assassinated or shipped to an inescapable planet, where they can cause the Universe no harm. In the history of every species (excluding any species from the Milky Way) twins have been known to grow up to be awful dictators, the bringers of genocide, famine, strife, and really, really good dance crazes. So good in fact, that they're terrible. _

Gilbert paused. Pursed his lips. Based upon Alfred's whistling I imagined the answer was 'I didn't have a clue he'd even made a hole in the first place'.

"…Yes. Of course, President Antonio Fernandez Carriedo." He murmured, scratching at his temple as he averted his eyes. What a mouthful...

"Haha! Gil, man, don't be so formal! You're still mi compadre, yeah? Call me Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Wish I could be wasting my life away in an Anthrovian stomach with you… But you know. Politics is a family tradition, and if you don't carry tradition, you're nothing but scum that deserves to have your left toe pulled off… Or so the Carriedo motto goes. Bye~" The President winked then the screen fizzled and dissipated into nothing.

"...So Nivvy…"

"_Shut up."_


	3. And as Follows

And as Follows

_Still_ April 11th 

The ride was particularly awkward for a while. It reminded me of Thanksgiving with my family. There was never much talking… We all just sort of made snide remarks about the turkey being burnt and inedible. The turkey was always burnt and inedible, though, regardless of who in my family volunteered to make it for the year. Alfred slid out of his slime dampened t-shirt in favor of getting a fresh one of the same charcoal color from a pile in the corner. Or as 'fresh' as an unwashed t-shirt from a pile of other unwashed t-shirts could be.

"Nivvy. Come on. I was going to tell you, but then my t'ack was destroyed, and then I totally met the funniest guy—he used that Earth slang! 'Got milk'. You know, I bet we could market it as our own now that we're pretty much destroying his home planet…" I must say, I completely adored how the man talked as though I weren't in the room with them.

Note: Tuh the Gack; Memo Device

_The word Tuh the Gack was coined by an Anthrovian Spider that was intelligent enough to speak in the most common language of the Universe—gibberish. Later on the word was shortened to t'ack by a wanderer from the North American Nebula, who was brave, insanely attractive, admirable, and heroic. Or, so he humbly desired me to describe him as. A t'ack is actually a sort of handheld device that you can type out calendar events into, or make long distance calls with. Unfortunately it has been known to detonate in unsuspecting users hands at any given moment, as t'acks were originally made and commissioned by the Loriol Planetary System, and sent to its rival planetary system 512 light years away in order to destroy it covertly. Most history databases no longer know the name of said system, seeing as all knowledge of it was demolished by the technologically addictive little devices only months after the planet having received them. They had supposedly been sent under the guise of a peace offering, as the two systems had been having trade disagreements. Eh. Don't accept peace treaties from a planetary system known for betrayal, especially if said system is also known for its love of fire and incendiary devices. Why anyone still uses the t'ack is beyond my comprehension. They are pretty retro though, which is totally in according to space hipsters that deny the fact that they are space hipsters._

"Destroy it?! Are you mad?!"

"No, I'm actually pretty happy right now. So happy in fact, that I could break out into dance." I stared at him. He smiled brightly. Dumbly, too, but I had the oddest feeling he was feigning it to catch me off guard later on with his conniving cleverness. "I'm really pretty good at this one thing. The hustle, or whatever." And as he began to display to me his impressive abilities, I found myself realizing that no, he really was just dumb.

Gilbert grunted as though he were listening to a married couple's squabble, rather than a plea for a planet with living organisms not to be incinerated for no reason at all! He'd said 'fun' a few beats of the ship's heart ago as though this was something they planned often. It was terribly morbid and sick and—And… I really wished Alfred would stop dancing. It was lessening the severity of the situation, which was not at all desired on my part.

"Would you two quiet down? I can't think. Ugh… Alfred. Get rid of that yapping thing." Both of us scowled accordingly. I couldn't imagine why Alfred would be upset, but me? I was upset because he was still treating me as though I was an unwanted family dog.

"Nivvy."

"Damn it, stop calling me that! It's your fault President Antonio Fernandez Carriedo thinks we're fucking, you know!" Why he said the president's whole name, I didn't know. But it seemed to be a running theme, so I made a subconscious note to always call the president by his whole name as well. Assuming the chance ever arose, seeing as I had my heart set on stopping the invasion and getting a nice cup of tea.

"But… Aren't we?" Alfred asked as he again, smiled brightly. Dumbly. However, this time that odd feeling that he was feigning it came again, mainly due to Gilbert's immediate reaction to growl rabidly.

"One time, _one time, _I wash a guy's back, and it's never let go! Just because we bathed together! If I wanted tail, I'd get tail. I don't need it from a cheeky American! I hate cheeky Americans. I don't know why we're even partners- _business _partners. Everyone stops at the word 'partners' and thinks, 'ah, lovebirds!' Honestly, I should've let you get blown up with that stupid star in that stupid nebula that stupidly bears a strong resemblance to that stupid continent on this stupid planet I'm destroying!" He ranted to no one in particular, swiveling around in his chair as he brought up a holographic screen to view the progress of the invasion. Alfred snorted to himself, buffing his nails against his t-shirt as he peered at the screen as well. Before me, I could see people by the thousands running about in crazed, senseless fear. Bit like chickens, really.

"Please, stop!" I cried desperately, jumping towards a control panel. Or rather… What I thought had been a control panel. It had actually been a complicated constructed card table with five legs, with a few strewn cards on the top. The cards didn't have numbers—just images of terribly unattractive, bulging yellow or grey women in thin g strings. Some weren't even really women… Just big dull blobs with too many erect nipples. Across the back of one, read the title 'Gorgonian Bikini Wear—Fifth Edition'. I wondered vaguely who would be intrigued enough by the depictions to go off and buy all the way to the fifth edition. That being said… I couldn't tear my eyes away for about ten minutes. When I did, I recalled that the invasion was still in process.

On the screen, I could very clearly see lobsters zapping people to death with laser cannons fitted to where they eyes should've been. I wondered if it hurt the creatures, then remembered the fact that we were in one of the poor things. The animal activist in me stirred restlessly. This was disgusting on a far larger scale than I was accustom to, in terms of cruelty.

"Listen, _human_. You're going to either shut up and be quiet, or get out and scream with all the other losers. Those are your options. Be glad I'm feeling generous." The Nivolton stated firmly, wispy platinum locks falling before his vicious red eyes like a sort of barrier meant to soften his intimidating intensity. Not by much, though, because I had the most embarrassing urge to shrink away and piss myself. "Generous!" I cried, incredulous, waving my arms about. "Generous he says! My, well, thank you very much. I was afraid you were an absolute sociopathic monster, but apparently that's not the case." He frowned darkly, scratching at hives that began to present themselves along his forearms. "Alfred." He said, in a dangerously constricted tone. The man in question sighed. He then moved to rest a hand on his ailed friend's shoulder, who was still itching at agitated patches of skin.

"…Gilbert." He responded in this certain way. This way that made me suddenly uncomfortable about being in the room. It had been said too softly. Too… Intimately. A very 'bedroom' sort of tone, is what it was. "Please. He's alright. Might even be able to help us get to the president. We'll squeeze every Gorgonian nickel out of this Universe together, just like I promised. You do trust me, don't you? Don't you, Gilbert? Relax for me."

Note: Gorgonian Nickel

_Once, the Gorgon Planetary system was very wealthy and successful. Its currency was used in nearly every galaxy, excluding the Milky Way seeing as the creatures inhabiting it were too primitive to create vessels that could travel at the speed of light. Most of the universe knew the Milky Way affectionately by the name of 'home of those dumb ass barbarians', _but that's a different story altogether._ Beneath the crust of a Gorgonian planet, excluding the dwarf it sold off to the Nivolton race after _The Pointlessly Destructive Party of the Century era_, is stable carbon. And thus diamonds were cut by other diamonds in _The Gorgonian Stone Age_, creating heavy, awkward basketball sized things that have always been referred to as nickels. The Gorgonians didn't have to create spaceships, or learn how to calculate great distances—nah, most species just dropped by and sold the technology to them for their nickels. Thus, why most from the Gorgonian Planetary system aren't very smart, but almost unbearably witty. They also have a knack for fashion merchandising, so most galaxies follow their trends even though most of them are generally unappealing. President Hugo Fernandez Carriedo decided the nickels were ugly during his presidency however, so the universe switched to a digital currency in favor of pleasing the man, as he had been more of a dictator and tended to think it was funny to drag random civilians through the streets and force them to disco dance. Disco was officially outlawed by President Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, who thought it was unspeakably evil. 'Gorgonian Nickel' is merely a figure of speech now, but many space hipsters would pay top digital credit for one of those hefty buggers. _

They locked gazes, which were flickering with hints of some odd bond. I whistled London Bridges awkwardly. My whistling seemed to break whatever trance Gilbert had been under, because he cleared his throat and jerked his shoulder away, as though suddenly aware that they were not alone in the privacy of an Anthrovian throat. "W-Whatever. Just tell him to knock off the sarcasm. I'm—!" Alfred cut in with a hushed laugh. "Allergic. Yeah, dude. I know." It seemed the moment was lost, because the two were back to their apparent stances in the relationship. 'Business'. Yes, well, whatever. Not quite my place to question that. "Alright. So. How about that deal? Eh? You wanna get out or what?" After all that he still wanted to destroy Earth… Alfred hadn't really bothered to convince him not to, now that I think about it. He just sort of convinced him to not to treat me too terribly because I was an 'investment'. "I want you to _not _blow up the Earth! How about that little request be fulfilled and _then_ you can drop me off?" Gilbert sighed. His third eye narrowed at me, while the set on his face fixed on Alfred. "…Every Gorgonian nickel, eh?" He mumbled, drawing a hand through his hair. "Every single one, man! We'll be rich, yeah? Now. I forgot Eloise at my place… Drop me off a sec. You boys play nice." And with a wink and a ruffle to my hair_, again_, he headed off to the door and disappeared into that cold slime that was the stomach to their space craft.

I blinked. Blinked some more. For a moment all thoughts of them blowing up my home came to a halt. "…Is Eloise his oyster?" Gilbert's gaze turned contemptuous in Alfred's absence, and so he eventually spun around in his swiveling leather chair to view the screen instead. He grunted, as though it were bothersome to have to speak to me. "Yeah. He insisted to name the damn thing. He insists that everything it spouts is the truth too, which is bull shit. We got lost on the way to my crib seventeen times because of that thing… And all we'd needed was to find the right street, not a whole new fucking galaxy_. _I wish I'd never given it to him. We'd been so drunk I couldn't see straight… And yet…" I shuffled awkwardly. I was willing to point out the fact that being drunk, and following a navigating oyster, probably didn't go hand in hand… But I was also willing to bet he'd just despise me more if I did. "…Erm. Yes, well that does sound like an issue… Another question. Do all aliens talk like him? It's very unnerving." Gilbert laughed that time. Shook his head. "No one quite talks like Alfred." I made a thoughtful noise. "And all Anthrovians respond to lip puckering? I mean it doesn't seem very practical… Perhaps you should come up with a different signal to teach them?" There was silence, and I felt as though I'd just suggested he should cut off his ear and staple it to a wall for the sake of poetic justice. I didn't see his expression, but the vibe he gave off was a strong enough warning for me to change the topic.

"….Never mind, never mind. Ha… I just… Could you stop vaporizing human beings?!"

"Back to square one."

Standing with a sigh, Gilbert moved to grab a shirt from the pile. After rifling through the charcoal shirts, he eventually discovered a particularly filthy one, balled and perhaps rancid. Without a word he tossed it at my head. I was out like a light the moment the smell struck me. It's a wonder I hadn't straight up died right then and there.

"…Neighbor… Hey. Neighbor."

I grunted. Groaned. Lolled. When my eyelids did raise, I was peering into again, the unremarkable blue of Alfred F. Jones' eyes. "…Why does it smell like a sewer?" I grumbled. Alfred gestured to the leather jacket tossed over my form. Alistair. It was actually… Calming, to have that stupid jacket nearby. Even if it stunk worse than the sulfur pits of hell. "...Am I at home?" Alfred paused. Considered the question. "…Sure." With that response being given, I was put even more at ease. My eyes fluttered shut, and I considered taking a really long shower in a little bit. It took quite a few minutes for me to realize that I'd been knocked out with funk fabric worse than my brother's. It took longer, after that, to realize I probably wasn't home, but in the belly of an Anthrovian Lobster. And on cue, my skin began to crawl with chill. Slime clung to the back of me. "…Oh God." I sighed out. He laughed apologetically, smoothing my hair. "Aw neighbor. You're gonna be just fine." I didn't bother to argue with him. I instead, moved to jerk away from his touch and sit up. "Why are we back here if there's plenty of space in that control room?" I hissed through clenched teeth. He grinned sheepishly. "Well there are only two chairs up there, ya know… So only two seatbelts. I thought it would be cruel to just chuck you back here alone." That almost sounded humane. Almost.

"Well, you could've always left me on Earth, instead of letting your homicidal maniac of a 'business partner' destroy it!" Again, I was in hysterics. He didn't seem very troubled by it. It was almost as though he'd been through this before, and if Gilbert was correct about him having some creepy fetish for 'ugly kicked puppies', then it probably should've been expected for him to be at ease.

"We really are business partners." He said calmly.

"And I'm a deranged impersonator of the queen!" I said less calmly.

He stared at me uncomprehendingly. "Is it the bath thing? Because that only happened once… See, we were on this planet full of swine flies… Hideous things, really. And they kept—"

"It's not quite the bath, I think, that makes it seem like you're lying, but the way you two look at each- Hell, I don't _care_ about your stupid chemistry! I just want to go home." Alfred ruffled my sticky hair for the millionth time that day then stood, trudging off to the door. The ship shook.

"Come on." He said as though he hadn't heard a thing I'd said. He then opened the door.

A wave of nausea hit me. I saw things. I saw time. Have you ever spun around in a circle in the middle of traffic where rabid bears carrying replica AK-47s happened to be doing a dance number for no particular reason at all? Even if not, that's the only way I can explain the feeling that hit me. I don't know why it smacked into me when the door opened. Maybe the inside of an Anthrovian's stomach is a safer place to be than in a control bunker lodged in its throat. How I managed to get inside of it, I don't know. I think I'd crawled pitifully through the freezing sludge.

"Nivvy! Miss me?" A laugh rang in my ears… Less strained and far less hateful than the first I'd ever heard Gilbert Beilschmidt give. I tried to peer up from my crumpled position on the floor.

"No. I was actually hoping you'd choke on that stomach acid and die. Close the door would ya?"

A slam occurred. The pressurizing dizziness lightened considerably… But not by enough to allow me to stand. Someone sat in a chair. Alfred, probably. The two conversed more, as though I weren't suffering and flopping about on the floor. I don't think the Anthrovian had even be moving, either. It must've been a late response, my reaction.

"So what are we looking for on Keeve again?"

Note: Keeve

_Keeve is similar to the likes of a 'sin city'. It has the single most successful contraceptive business in its galaxy. Perhaps because said contraceptives actually work—many other businesses just sort of slap a label on a box of garbage bags and call it a day. Keeve was originally the planet the Nivolton race had planned to buy, being lovers of entertainment and constant never-ending summer parties, but the Keeven people hadn't wanted to sell… A nuclear war nearly took place in that era, which was dubbed _"That Really Ridiculous Argument over Booze and Whores" War_, but seeing as the Nivolton race had originally used most of their arsenal on their own planet… Keeve would've won. And so they turned tail and ran. The Keeven people, and the Nivoltons, get along swimmingly. Unless of course the "incident" is brought up, in which case you might find them biting at one another's ears in a local brothel or casino, which is a common, amusing sight. Many tourists come solely in hopes of seeing that bizarre spectacle. _

"Chicks. Food. Fuel."

"Oh, right, right. That's all you ever think about. We _should _be looking for the twins."

"And that's all _you _ever think about. Twins this, twins that. Why do we have to get right down to business? I miss my hellraiser pal~"

"I'll raise hell when I find the fucking twins, Gilbert."

"…Tsk. Do you even know where the brats are?"

"They're probably not _here. _We're wasting time."

A mocking laugh rang in the air. Someone growled. I didn't know who did what, really. Didn't care, either. I convulsed a bit. They continued speaking.

"One drink. That's all I'm asking. Have a drink. Relax. We could play some card games. Leave with enough credits to last a century."

"You're a terrible gambler, and I'm too anxious to cheat. Do I look like I'd have good poker face? I can't even stop trembling. I'm trembling, dammit!"

A sigh. Someone shifted. The leather of a chair whined.

"…Here. Just calm down. Does that feel good?"

There was a sharp intake of breath. More leather whined.

"…Y-Yeah."

"There we go… We're gonna have fun for the night, alright? No talk about business or twins or President Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. We can do that shit tomorrow."

"Uh huh… Right, okay…"

A laugh.

"You're not even listening."

"…Mhm… S-Sure... That's fine…"

I raised my head up, drooling and dazed. But not so dazed I could ignore what I was hearing. And yet all I saw upon peering up was Gilbert innocently running his hand through Alfred's dirty blonde hair, scratching at his scalp or tugging attentively at that one particularly annoying cowlick. He alternated between the two actions every few moments, appearing rather smug. Alfred was tense, eyes hazed and far off, his hands clenched tight on the edge of his seat. I blinked sluggishly. Admittedly I was too worn from the bat shit crazy day to be too curious.

"…Hello…?" I mumbled.

"Artie! I was just considering checking your pulse. Guess there's no need, haha!" He said after he snapped up from his passive bow, tone switching to something considerably less husky. He was again, optimistic and dim, as though it were actually just a show for me alone. Gilbert had merely rolled his eyes and returned to his position of being turned away from me. I wondered if they'd expected me to be passed out. That's all I seemed to be good for anyway. Fainting and panicking. "We're at this nifty place called Keeve. Maybe they have some disgusting bland crackers and shit—you like that, right?"

My head hit the marble white floor as I shut my eyes. I didn't even bother to point out Alfred's presumptive racism, which seemed to be a habit of his. "…I'm going to hurl."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry this took so long. I just wasn't sure how I wanted to take this chapter... But it seems my answer to every plot pause issue is just 'knock Arthur out' XD Ahaha... Ah. I should work on that. Anyhow. Hope you enjoyed. Good day to you. **


	4. Onward!

Onward!

_Need I tell you the date? _

After Gilbert had me wipe up my own mess, cursing all the while about what an absolute bother I was as Alfred played cards alone at the complicated table set up off to the side (it seemed he was losing to himself— don't ask how he managed that. I still to this day don't understand it), we exited the Anthrovian through a tight fleshy corridor leading out of its mouth. The creature sat solemnly and obediently as we passed it. Alfred cried 'we'll bring you a treat' to it, but it didn't respond. It merely… Sat in unsettling resignation.

I was amazed all the while. Though the Earth had in fact been destroyed in the time of my unconsciousness… I was walking on an entirely different planet, seeing strange people, and breathing thick, heavy, notably polluted air. The Keeven people were curved, lovely things. Pink, and soft toned… Feminine and lithe. I suppose that was the most attractive sight there, because the architecture was nothing to brag about. There were merely long, cylinder and rectangular buildings that held blocky glowing signs at the very tops, with dusty grey dirt roads cutting through between every nook and cranny. None of said streets were labeled. There also didn't appear to be any lights. So... you never really knew whether to stop for traffic, or to use the stone crosswalk. This led to many an accident every couple of minutes, but Gilbert seemed to be an absolute expert at avoiding being hit by cars, so we lived. He said it had something to do with his innate ability to be the only thing that mattered. I think that was a translation for 'I'm a lucky narcissistic asshole, what more do you need to know?' The vehicles were marvel worthy, however. They were slim… Like the people. Curved and luscious, some hovering and others single wheeled. If a vehicle could be sexually appealing, well… Ha. Not that they _were_ or anything! Alfred had told me it was illegal to knock boots with AIs when he caught me staring at one. I'd laughed awkwardly.

Note: The AI Courtship Ban 

_Originally, according to ancient touch screen text forgotten in the library of Ancient Touch Screen Texts, once nearly every planetary system turned a blind eye to those citizens who happened to have strange affixations on now obsolete, bulky, stoic Apple software devices (interestingly enough, Steve Jobs once had an encounter with a Carriedo president at a local Wal-Mart. They'd both been in the produce aisle, Steve examining a bit of kale, the Carriedo arguing with a particularly rude two year old, whose mother had been flirting with a sweat reeking baker at the time. After a brief conversation with Steve, the Carriedo proceeded to beam him up and upload his brain into a super computer. This super computer's name is 'Ashton' and when it's not pranking space engineers with made up answers to their world weary questions, it's pondering over whether or not it should run for the presidency. Every few years it occasionally does spit out new ideas for technology, however. That's how everyone figured out that the Anthrovian Spotted Lobster could be used for space travel instead of as couch carcasses- Gorgonian style. Don't ask.) so long as it was kept private. Marriage however, was an iffy topic for the government, as they had just legalized marriage to sentient plants and were not sure how the public would react to another large decision on marital rights. On one hand, most species didn't care. On the other, some were a little peeved that people even found vehicles and televisions sets appealing, let alone worthy of marriage. The ban against it was set immediately upon one amphibious Gorgonian having relations with a slim tablet in a public park, as said Gorgonian had been a close personal friend to president Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, who was still under heat for having pardoned a Nivolton for invading an inhabited planet that was under the protection of the Developing Planet Policy- Many planets in the Milky Way were also under the same protection, but apparently, Nivoltons are too fond of destroying less advanced civilizations to follow protocol or any regulation. So basically... Some guy did the dirty with a tablet pc in a public park, and now anyone that so much as looks at an AI the wrong way gets called a sick pervert and is jailed for up to ten hours. Ruined it for everybody, really. Ruined it for everybody._

It was a bit of a blur beyond that. We'd reached a sleazy motel of some sort later on, and I'd only known it was sleazy because its own personal neon sign had a few letters buzzed out, with refined young men from different alien races leading near bare Keeves to rooms to the farthest end of the building in an embarrassed rush. That must've been the universal sign for 'sleazy', regardless of whether you were new to the travelling scene or not. We'd gotten a room despite my initial revulsion. The first thing Alfred had done was jump on the bed. Gilbert had busied himself with looking through a device he called a t'ack. I… Well. I had watched the television. It was amazing, that I won't deny. Even the News held its own distinct charm. Perhaps I'd only found everything interesting because I was so use to the BBC. Who knows?

"...How about we go down to the stretch now?" Gilbert had stood, his third eye peering at me again in a narrowed fashion, while the set on his face fixed on Alfred, those holding a friendly affection I imagined was reserved solely for very close friends. Or… 'Business partners', as the two insistently labeled their strange relationship as. I was beginning to consider the possibility that Gilbert's contempt for me wasn't entirely personal. The blonde grinned, tossing a pillow senselessly at my head. It had so many stains, that I had immediately come to the conclusion it had never been washed in the history of this motel's reign of scandal. I'd admittedly busied myself with studying it, as opposed to glaring at him.

"Sounds like a plan Nivvy! Ah, I'm a little rusty though…" Alfred stood from his perch on the bed as he spoke, hair a mess. I 'tsk'ed, tossing the pillow back on the mattress. He looked like a child.

"Don't worry about it. We need to lose the first few games anyway." Hm. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were a couple of degenerates. And I didn't know any better. I was from the Milky Way for God's sake, which apparently was the most primitive system around. "You know, interestingly enough, there's this thing called a _job_. I suppose you both have one, and are responsible individuals, and all that?" I mumbled, standing as well.

Gilbert glared at me, scratching at the red welts forming along his forearms. "...Feel free to sit in here and just rot, you fucking monkey."

Alfred laughed, cutting in before I could make any cruel, non-gentleman like rebuttals. "Guys, guys... Global warming? It's over. Chill."

Gilbert and I, we both stared. For a while. Alfred laughed again when the awkward atmosphere dissipated, taking Gilbert's wrist and heading off and out. I followed the duo, arms crossed and eyes wide with a wonder I tried to conceal with indifference. Wouldn't do for me to be in awe of this planet openly- they just destroyed mine. I should've been acting very pissed and unforgiving.

Should've been. Everything was gone. My overbearing, hygiene lacking, mum... Alistair, stupid, _stupid, _Alistair... Peter, my youngest brother.. With his smart aleck remarks and insufferably overwhelming confidence. Thanksgiving. God, Thanksgiving! It was gone. Everything was gone and...

I quite literally only felt a bit of a gnawing hunger for a warm meal. The thought of Thanksgiving and family subdued that hunger momentarily with disgust. I realized then that... I actually hadn't much to miss. Which was... Particularly pathetic. As I considered that, I retreated more so into the familiar leather of my brother's bomber jacket. It reeked of cigarettes and rat shit still, but there was now an unfamiliar taint of... Peanut butter? Peanut butter and daises.

The three of us made it to the 'stretch' in no time at all, really. We didn't blend very well. Gilbert was as pale as a corpse and had a third eye that happened to have the uncanny ability of seizing an unfortunate someone's gaze every few minutes. Alfred was loud, and constantly stopping to chat with strangers about anything from the windy weather to the whereabouts of 'twins'. At the mention of twins, oddly enough, many grew reserved or fell to their knees and began shouting in what I could vaguely make out to be gibberish. I'd been taught gibberish in primary school by Alistair, who had been fond of irrelevant skills, and still would be if he wasn't, you know, bloody _dead_. I didn't know it would ever actually be useful. Huh. Guess his idiocy did me some good. I myself was a clumsy foreigner, and was rude without even knowing it at times. Fun fact: shaking hands with a Keeven is actually a declaration of war, though if you shake lightly enough, it might be taken as a proclamation of their mother being a devout oyster praiser.

The first building we entered was positively brimming with life. Coral skinned women in fine, flowing dresses, whirled about laughing and offering refreshments. People sat at tables, playing games that were unfamiliar to me, or sat in corners sobbing about the wretched system and why the Universe undoubtedly was run by Apple. A few graceful, fluorescent birds fluttered about, trapped in the glass ceiling above our heads. The establishment, in general, gave me a very weird vibe. But then, so did everything else.

"Why are there birds in the bloody ceiling?" I hissed through clenched teeth. Gilbert quirked an eyebrow as though he didn't know what I was talking about. Alfred hummed thoughtfully, in contrast.

Note: The Tolorin Bird 

_A very cruel, and horribly intellectual bird, it's species is responsible for the most wars since the Nivoltons learned about nuclear energy. It typically can be found at a dictator's shoulder, or on their head, pecking and humming out song notes that border on malicious plans to rule the Universe. The bird has been a staple in art involving twins for as long as anyone can remember. While it is extremely difficult to find and catch one of these majestic beings, once you do, glass is the best thing to keep them in. Not only are they too beautiful to hide away behind the ugly steel of a cage anyhow, but it's their biggest weakness. They are so intelligent, it's almost sad to realize they haven't quite grasped the concept of see through glass yet. So when not plotting the demise of civilizations.. They're usually smacking into buildings or people's windows._

"...They make nice decorations?" He offered eventually. I glowered. He didn't seem to notice, opting to instead lead his dear partner away, and towards a table hosted by one of those lovely pink creatures. I was left on my lonesome, and for a moment I didn't exactly know what to do. I eventually did the most rational thing I could think of- plotted to get the birds out.

In my absence, what Alfred and Gilbert did, I don't exactly know. I'd like to think they used protection in all scenarios and instances.

I managed to find a back room in all my covert snooping, and there I wandered. In my brother's jacket I felt very manly, and not at all like a stupid, ignorant human. I also felt as though I smelt awful, and probably would kill the birds the minute I set them free with my stench alone. Hopefully, I could find a place to clean myself, in due time.. A particularly winding path, with walls that were covered in polka-dotted animals skins (I gagged at least several times- not even because of the fact that I love animals, really. They were just terribly ugly pelts), led me to a rising flight of stairs. Now these stairs were not your ordinary 'up, down' stairs. They wound up and down and around. Have you ever seen that rubbish, too-many dimensions, painting? Yes, well, the premise is exactly the same. I fell and hit my head at least twice, and so to tell you the truth, I'm not exactly sure if everything that happened after I took the right path of stairs, actually happened, per say.

I'm assured now, that the dancing, winged, holographic worms in the hallway screaming at me to 'go home' were indeed, something that did not happen.

I'd gotten to a control panel, and there, you'd think there would be security. Someone working. However, based upon the 'I quit' sign plastered over one of the keyboards, I figured my plans were solid enough to continue on unhampered. Now, dizzy and a little out of it, I didn't know what I was looking at. Probably wouldn't have known even if I was completely alright. There were shapes, numbers, and colored buttons. I felt very silly trying to figure out what they all meant... A bit like a frustrated child, really, who was waiting for a cartoon protagonist to tell them where the mountain is in the background of the show. Eventually I just pressed the green button. Green had to be a universal sign, right?

Wrong.

Well, not exactly wrong, really. The button I pressed did free the birds, based on what I could see on many of the brought up screens hovering throughout the room. The fluorescent birds flew about, and my chest had swelled with pride for exactly two minutes. Then they started attacking people, ripping at their flesh with sharp, drilling beaks... And I realized that, huh... Maybe not the best idea to do this rescue spur of the moment, without waiting for the place to close.

I whistled London Bridges awkwardly to myself. Backed out of the room slowly.

In the events that followed, I found myself stumbling down those too-many dimensional stairs, hitting my head a few more times.. And clambering to get out of the back room that led to that hallway that led to those stairs that led to that room that led to people being viciously attacked by apparently p-oed birds. Who would've thought that they had built up an animosity over the years in that glass cage, and had been planning to murder everyone in the casino the first chance they got? Certainly not I, who was not expecting a birdemic of all things to take place.

"What did you do?!" Was the first thing Gilbert yelled at me, upon seeing me step out from the back room. He had a chair over his head, which he was using to fend off any bird that happened to have the gall to come near. The majority of the creatures went after the Keevens, however, so he was free to glare at me with his full undivided attention. I believe that was when his contempt for me _did _become personal. "How do you know I did anything at all?!" I spat back. He pointed just above my head then, and there a glowing worm with wings happened to be dancing. It was small, and hardly recognizable if you're not the sort to look up.. But Gilbert was taller than me, and so he was on eye level with the strange thing. Above the worm, there were the insistently bright words of 'stop'. Ah. So that _had _happened... Maybe it was a warning mechanism. Not the most effective, either.

"...The security system copies the fucking criminal's true self and mimics it, in hopes to stop it." He explained, glaring all the while. I blushed furiously. "Are you calling me a winged, dancing worm?!" I cried in response, flailing my arms about. "No, you are, monkey boy!" He spat in return, dropping the chair. He then took it upon himself to grab my arm and rush me out of the chaotic casino, where people were still being pelted by beaks and viciously beating wings. I could hear pop music thumping down the road, and upon seeing flashing lights, realized it was the cops. What a weird way to intimidate people...

"Jeez... What the hell does he _want_ with you?" Was what the man mumbled under his breath as he led me away from the scene, dancing worm still over my head with the insistent sign reading in bolder letters now, 'STOP'. "If you're referring to Alfred, I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps he just wants me along because I'm intelligent, empathetic, and quick witted." Gilbert gazed at me for a split second. "...You quite literally just murdered at least a hundred Keevens..." Was his initial response, but then he trailed off, turned his head, and said nothing more. This was because a sleek hovering vehicle with flashing lights had swerved in front of us, and even if the current circumstances hadn't happened... I doubted very seriously that the action was illegal for any normal driver.

A woman slipped from the passenger seat, brown, unkempt hair, matted to her skull. She wasn't... Pretty, really. Not very slight either. In fact, had I not seen her chest, I would've taken her for a vaguely feminine man. Not to insult the lady... She just wasn't the most attractive thing around, and considering the fact she was already wildly shooting beams of light at us from her clunky pistol, she apparently wasn't very understanding and sympathetic either. "Freeze!" She screamed at the two of us, like she wasn't trying to kill us already. Gilbert dropped to his belly. I hid behind a bench.

"Bitch, it's me!" He yelled out in frustration, covering his head and likely burning a hole into the dirt road with his likely still glaring, furious red eyes.

"Yeah, well, I've got no pity for criminals! Why haven't you called?!" She yelled in reply, still shooting haphazardly. A few civilians had run screaming, some unfortunate enough to run into the very casino the rabid, attacking birds happened to be in.

"Liz. LIZ! Fuck me, stop! I'll explain if you just stop, for the love of-" The woman shot dead on, managing to hit the ground just near his head. The dirt steamed. Molted. Cooled. I cringed. I didn't want to be hit with that, and the realization that she was only missing on purpose hit me like a train going ten miles an hour. Not very fast, but still, it hit me.

"Don't call me 'Liz'! Don't call me anything but 'officer'! You know your **_little _**brother had to assure me_** you** _were just going through a 'phase' when I called to ask about your well being, like a GOOD friend? What the fuck does that even mean- a phase?! Huh? Is it Alfred? Always Alfred this, Alfred that. 'Ohhh, Alfred's such a good dancer, why can't you be a good dancer, Elizaveta?!' Why don't I just arrest Alfred for treason eh?! Then would you call your REAL friend every once in a while, _you slimy insufferable bastard_?!" She damn near screamed, shooting wildly as her voice level rose, hitting buildings and benches and the road. Everything but a cowering Gilbert. I was actually certain I could get away with all limbs intact, considering it seemed her fury and rage was focused solely on him.

"HE NEEDS ME, DAMN IT! He doesn't even know how to tie his god damn shoes! How can you be jealous of a child?! We're business partners, for fuck's sake! Nothing more, nothing less! It's you. You're everything to me, you stupid bitch!" He screamed back, raising his head to meet the officer's glower. It was then an incredibly large lobster dropped in the middle of the scene, and without a word Gilbert scrambled towards it. I followed. There was an exasperated scream of 'don't die, asshole!' behind us, and I think I caught the man in front of me smile. I think.

Inside, Alfred sat at what I'd thought was Gilbert's chair. Apparently it was just the one that controlled everything. He only spun around after lift off, leaving the Anthrovian to skitter to whatever coordinates he'd sent to it's brain. A bit like how humans controlled cockroaches on Earth.. I could recall the news story about it, and being inside of the poor thing bothered me.. But I realized my rescue attempts hadn't gone the best today, so I'd mess with saving the lobster later on in my tale. Alfred, anyhow, was none too pleased. He had a rather constricted, strained expression.. Like he wanted to say something, but wasn't going to. Gilbert smiled sheepishly, waltzing over to ruffle his hair as though he _were _in fact a child. The lad's expression constricted more so.

"...Just said what she wanted to hear. Don't get your panties in a twist. 'Sides.. I know you know how to tie your shoes." He said reassuringly, tone faintly teasing.

"How about you make like a tree and leave? Mainly, me alone." Alfred responded eventually (just as lamely as usual), averting his eyes, and falling into a silence soon after the vaguely snide but ridiculous, comment was made. I didn't know what the hell was going on, personally.. I just knew Alfred wasn't happy, and being upset didn't quite suit him. His eyes got murky, and his lips curled in this strange way.. Then of course, he was quiet. And I, not even knowing him, knew that his silence was probably as dangerous as arsenic slapped on a five dollar hoagie. Crap. That's something he'd say, isn't it?

"...Well. I must admit. Today's been.. Interesting. When do I lose this thing?" I asked, cutting through the conversation carefully and pointing at the holographic worm. The pair of them stared at me. "...That's so cute, Artie! You're a worm!" Alfred laughed out, putting on that same terribly enthusiastic mask. I have to say.. It was growing on me. "Oh shut it! When does it leave?!"

He didn't answer, still laughing. Gilbert had taken to sitting in the free chair, mumbling about sensitive Americans and how much he hated monkeys.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I reallyyy hate past participles. I was mainly stuck on the word 'wound' for the majority of this story. Yes. That was my biggest hurdle. You see, wound, usually means injury. Obviously. However, what happens when you want to say 'wind', but past tense? I could've said 'winded', I suppose, but I hate that word. It reminds me of 'finded', which is not a word... I hate English. I'm a native speaker, and sometimes I still think it's shit. Maybe I just never paid much attention in English class... Who knows? Hope you guys enjoyed! ^^ Thanks for reading, and I hope I can have chapter five out before break comes to an abrupt end. (School... Anyone else feel like screaming in horror?) **


	5. Not the Oyster!

Not the Oyster!

_Finally April 12th_

At some point in our journey across the expanse of eternity with nothing but _Earth, Wind, and Fire_ playing throughout the humble little living ship, we'd all taken respective places away from one another and slept. Alfred had bought, inexplicably, a heavy steel futon with the money earned prior to my disastrous attempt of granting freedom to birds that were apparently far more malicious than you'd suspect at first glance. And so, it was the futon I'd slept on, huddled underneath his unwashed t-shirts for warmth. Apparently, the Anthrovian Lobster would suffer severely if it's internal temperature were to increase, and so cold we all remained. Very inconvenient animal to live in, if you ask me.

I'd woken to the sound of strained, hushed arguments, and realized that my lips were painfully dry. I also realized that Alfred was terrible with money. Non-perishable goods would've made more sense to purchase, than a futon. It wasn't even comfortable- the steel of it bit into the cushion, and into me. I was wary of the fact that it might actually be another living creature, but hadn't voiced my suspicions to him quite yet.

"You're such a woman- you know that Jones?"

"Then... What's this between my legs? Is it... Is it a dick? Holy shit, Gil, call a doctor!"

I shifted underneath those nasty, wrinkled shirts. Considered sitting up and asking when we'd be getting breakfast. I wasn't necessarily concerned about their argument. In fact, it was merely background noise in the grand scheme of things. The real thing that was bothering me was the fact the futon was feeling more and more like the gaping mouth of a vicious carnivore.

"All I'm saying is, you don't have to get so offended all the time."

"...Hey, dude. Wait a sec, there's something on your chin."

There was a pause, and as I cracked open my eyes to view them in their chairs, Alfred leaned close to the impatiently still Nivolton. He made a thoughtful noise, swiped his thumb underneath one of Gilbert's thin pale lips. Brought it to his nose to sniff at. He then shook his head.

"Never mind. It was just a bit of bull shit. Wonder how it got there."

"Maybe from kissing your ass so much, you littl-"

"Excuse me." I yawned out, interrupting the duo rather crassly, but being too hungry and too weary to have much shame for it. Alfred had greeted me with one of his dumbly pleasant smiles. Gilbert had given me an ugly, 'you're still alive?' sort of look that made me vaguely uncertain about saying much more than that. "Firstly, just to solve your current dilemma... I don't believe bull defecation could be found on Alfred's posterior, unless he was prone to... I'm not even sure how he'd manage that sort of feat, and kudos to anyone else that has. Secondly... I feel rather famished and a meal might be nice, in between whatever illegal shenanigans the lot of you are planning."

It seemed as though Gilbert were considering strangling me, based on the way his hands throttled the air uselessly. But that could've been his way of saying hello when he was feeling impartial to words.

"Yeah... A shame we didn't have time to buy food together like _somebody_ promised. You know that ol' Lizzy." Alfred agreed, knocking their foreheads together painfully hard, which seemed altogether unnecessary at the time. If it had been meant to be a prompting gesture for forgiveness, then clearly he'd failed, because Gilbert's immediate reaction was to knock their foreheads together again, just as hard. "Oh yeah, I know Lizzy. I know her so well she didn't throw _somebody's_ ass in jail, for a whole slew of diabolical shit he's been up to since the day I met him!" I'd stood to be the mediator, but Alfred had insisted distractedly as they butted heads (literally) once more,

"Just feed the oyster!" And waving me off as though he were perfectly fine and was handling himself quite nicely against his supposed 'friend', I couldn't help but wonder if he was aware of just how dysfunctional a partnership this clearly was. I then did as told, not as brave as I was curious.

The door shut behind me, _Boogie Wonderland_ faded into a hum, and the oyster sat before me in it's intimidating massiveness. I'd began searching for anything that might satisfy it, but there didn't really seem to be anything lying around but a bottle of olive oil.

"You will meet a terrible man... And in a fortnight, will marry him. The day after, he will die."

I wrinkled my nose as I peered at the navy toned oyster, crouching in the gunk of chilled stomach acid and grasping at the bottle.

"...I'm not gay. Sorry to disappoint."

It thought for a moment.

"You will meet a terrible woman... And in a fortnight, will marry her. The day after, she will die."

I exhaled a troubled breath. Massaged my left temple. What a lovely pet to have, if you're fond of ones that happen to speak English, give cryptic messages, and take up a terrible amount of space.

"That's hardly even a good fortune... Let alone, realistic."

"Fortunes are sometimes not quite as nice as we'd like them to be, but..."

"When I said it wasn't very good, I'd meant that your fortune was just generally, bad. As in, I've heard better fortunes from American fortune cookies. As in, you're a fraudulent fraud."

"...Is that truly how you feel?" It asked, suddenly sounding as though I'd actually wounded it. I quirked an eyebrow. "Indeed, Eloise." And with that I stood and shook the bottle. "Is this what you... Eat? Mm?" The oyster hadn't responded. Quite on the contrary. It had actually remained silent for the whole of two minutes. It had then said a bit later, I still having been waiting for a response, "Then I'll just explode." I had of course laughed. "Throw your tantrum, if you must-" Gut had hit my face before I could finish... And standing their in the bloody remains of Alfred F. Jones pet oyster, it suddenly occurred to me that when something in space asserts that it's going to explode... It probably will.

As I sluggishly returned to the bunker, I heard a shrill,

"You need therapy!"

and I'd thought... Yes. I certainly did need therapy right then.

"You _know_ all the therapists in the universe were rounded up and vaporized years ago!" I blandly watched as they ground their foreheads against one another's. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable in the debris of his recently deceased pet. The strangest thing happened moments later. Alfred startled the both of us by breaking down and sobbing. Gilbert startled me by taking him in a loose hug and mumbling in gibberish. The ship had been startled as well, just seconds proceeding that, and had apparently fell or something... Because we all hit the ceiling, and the bunker went eerily black.

It was only a minute or so later when the ship collided into something. I'd hoped it was a planet with oxygen, but wasn't betting my life on it. Something more likely would be... We'd collided into another ship and were all about to die.

I hit the floor a minute later, and as the lights flickered and our vessel began to wheeze, I wasn't entirely sure if I wanted to open my eyes or not. A leather boot sank into my stomach as I thought that, and I decided it was best to just get up and open my eyes than lay down and have myself be kicked again by life itself. Or perhaps it hadn't been life, but Gilbert. I wouldn't put it passed him to kick a man when he was down.

"Monkey."

Ah. So I'd been correct.

"Get up, would ya?" I grudgingly did just that, and admittedly I hadn't been expecting him to sling an arm around my throat and point a sort of laser fashioned pistol at my temple.. But then I guess, it should've been expected to happen sooner or later between us. "They probably won't shoot a live shield." He said in a not very reassuring manner. I grimaced. I then allowed my hazed eyes to wander aimlessly about. They eventually caught Alfred, who was sniveling and holding his own pistol upside down.

"Alfred, what day is it?" Gilbert barked, focusing his third eye on the door leading into the Anthrovian's stomach, as the softer set on his face kept fixed on his partner.

"T... T-Tuesday." He'd replied, blinking rapidly.

"Yeah. And what do we do on Tuesdays?"

"...W-We argue."

"Because?"

"Because Tuesday is a shitty day?"

"Because Tuesday is a shitty day! Exactly, sweetheart. So shut up and cover me."

Alfred snorted, head cocking to the side. He then grinned, misted unremarkable blue eyes flashing with an arrogance that didn't suit a man who'd just been crying. "...Like I'd let anybody else kill you."

And that being said, the door to the bunker burst open and in came a slimy terribly unattractive creature that made my eyes burn. And when I say that, I don't mean I was figuratively repulsed to the point of my eyes roasting in their sockets. I mean my eyes were quite literally burning. The three of us all began to shed tears profusely, as the disgusting thing stood in all it's stout pudgy glory. It wore a uniform that possessed many impressive badges and pins, but that didn't do much to convey superiority what with them all being covered in wet grey goop.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt, and Alfred F. Jones," It said in a very meek, subdued voice. There were sleek little aircrafts hovering about it, all with small turrets focused upon the two men in question. "You are wanted for theft, treason, breathing of the Developing Planet Policy, murder, obstruction of justice, piracy-"

"Excuse me, but those are very lovely shoes you have." I said, cutting in. It stared at me. Alfred stared at me. Gilbert exhaled through his nose.

"...Pardon?" Replied the mess of slime, which of whom was clearly thrown by the compliment. "I said those are very lovely shoes. I myself could never wear them, as I'm opposed to the usage of genuine leather... But they're nice. That's all."

"...O-Oh... Yes, well, I had a tailor make them specifically designed for me. Other shoes were destroyed near immediately due to the acidity of my skin, but..."

"Oh my, tell me all about it. I'd have been a tailor, as well, but I haven't the skill. Too clumsy, they said."

"Hm... Well a Gorgonian had them done up for me, and dubbed them, 'his gift to humanity'. Apparently they are the only thing about me anyone can stand... Which is... Particularly depressing."

"Do tell."

The creature paused, again appearing genuinely thrown by my curiosity. The sleek hovering AIs seemed just as startled.

"...No one has ever liked us Anthrovians... We have some of the most brilliant minds, and often even our animals are just as intelligent, which makes the usage of our spotted lobsters inexcusable... But does anyone care? Does anyone believe us?"

_Note: _Anthrovians

_The Anthrovian comes from an unfortunately ugly planet snuggly placed between a binary star system. Most experts insist that they were actually meant to be burned, much like most of the planet's vegetation. An Anthrovian is after all, a sentient plant that has recently been recognized as an intelligent being perfectly capable of anything the more humanoid species are capable of. Alas, though that fact has been recognized, the docile species is still treated quite unfairly. If there is a universal sporting event, anything from their planet is often not invited, as most Anthrovians do have a habit of being so unaesthetically pleasing that they bring people to tears. They suffer from inferiority complexes, typically are introverted, and despise anything to do with work. Or rather, work meant for the betterment of every galaxy but their own. Many of the other creatures that come from Anthrovia are used as ships, furniture, meals, or as living decoration. The latter is typically reserved for eccentric artists who strongly believe that beauty comes from within. Many citizens just assume Anthrovians are as cruel as they are ugly, however, though they come from a planet that has only ever had a single war, and that is an active member in Planetary Aid, a program meant for the more impoverished planets in every galaxy capable of intergalactic travel. This only proves that if it looks like a duck but goes 'moo', that you should ignore what it sounds like and still call it a duck._

"I imagine the answer is no?"

"Exactly! I should be on a cruise right at this moment, instead of taking in your low life companions, but guess who gets the vacation days? My subordinate. What sort of a general gets disciplinary action imposed on him? As though it's my fault for eating a few of our engineers."

"Unspeakable that they'd blame you for that. You can't quite help it if you're hungry."

"That's what I insisted in my angrily written complaint! I doubt they actually read that, however. It eats at me, the way they discriminate..."

Gilbert peered towards Alfred. Alfred met his gaze. They had a silent exchange before both firing off thin red rounds at the mass of slime and its accompanying 'guards'. It crippled into a heap on the floor of our bunker, along with several of the sleek machines.

"That wasn't so difficult." I'd said as I was released and stumbled forward.

"Yeah well, that wasn't the only guy... Though I'm sure they've all got the same sob story." Gilbert grumbled, running a hand through his hair. Alfred had laughed, in contrast, moving to rope an arm around my neck. He ruffled my hair, which was to be expected. I cringed. "We'll just jack their ship." He said, grinning dumbly. Our own ship shook with tremors, and the holographic screen fizzled on behind us, though no picture showed. It merely began with audio,

"I can't go on any longer." Said the screen in a guttural, strained voice. Or perhaps it had been the ship. We all faced it, me being the most in awe. I hadn't known the vessel had the ability to even think, let alone talk. Alas Gilbert spoke, smashing the mystic vibe with his brash nature. "We don't care. We also don't have time for heartfelt conversations with you." He'd replied bluntly, and perhaps, honestly. "But I... I've given you twelve long years of my life," It began. Gilbert fired off a round at the screen and it dissipated into silvery nothingness. "Jeez, let's go." And with that, he fixed a toothpick between his lips, grasped at the deck of cards on the table... Then led us over the slime body and into one of the many fleshy corridors leading out of the Anthrovian lobster.

"...Where's Eloise?" Alfred inquired a bit later, as we were clambering into the foreign grounds of a new ship. Apparently we'd just been swallowed by a bigger, much more orthodox ship.

Gilbert responded for me, picking at a bit of red gunk in my hair then tossing it into his mouth. Actually, that wasn't an answer, really. But it certainly was very insensitive, considering it was his business partner's pet he was chewing on.

"It... Well, she... Erm. You know. Exploded."

"How could I possibly have known that?! Do you think I read minds?!"

His yelling excited an alarm system, and as garbled gibberish was whispered in a subdued, hushed fashion over the intercom, Gilbert ran for the nearest entrance. I followed, as did Alfred, who didn't have the time to scream at me right then.

The ship itself was far more pleasant than it's inhabitants. Even the off-white paint offered a sort of mellowed feeling, as opposed to the violent tears that immediately burst forth upon making eye contact with an Anthrovian on board. Many of them had avoided confronting us, and it seemed as though putting such a docile sort of species in charge of the law was stupid on the government's part, but I didn't voice my observation. I just ran behind Gilbert and Alfred, who fired at anything that did happen to get in the way. So... Mainly sliding doors and light fixtures.

We ended up in the kitchen, somehow, and there we ate at our leisure. I had at first been wary that we would all be arrested for being so carefree and unassuming... But then a few of the cooks offered us meals, and some of the soldiers even passed us as we ate. Apparently alongside with being terribly insecure due to their hideous appearances, they were also a very lethargic people.

"...You won't be killing everyone, right?" I asked absently as I studied what rested at the end of my fork. A strange sort of vegetable is what it was... Prickly and pink.

"Like you killed Eloise? No, I don't think so. We're more civil than that." I frowned, and Alfred frowned in return. He then added, "We can leave them be. They probably won't mind if we take the ship off course, so long as we don't ask for much help."

"That's surprisingly convenient." I grumbled before chewing into my vegetable. The taste had a strange resemblance to carrots. Razor sharp carrots, anyway. "I'll go turn the ship around." Gilbert offered as he stood, having finished some foreign cut of meat I'd never seen before, and would never like to see again. Mainly because of the blue gunk it spewed when he'd been cutting into a few moments prior to his standing.

"Kay. Choose somewhere near-"

"The stellar black hole. Yeah, yeah. I know what you want, Jones."

They again exchanged a sort of look as they grinned at one another. He then left us alone, and for the first time since I'd met Alfred, I was actually uneasy about being left with him. I'd only known him for a day and a half now, yes, but that just meant it was all the more difficult to gauge just how he'd treat me, considering his oyster was dead. Something that I was, oddly enough, very numb about.

"...So what were Eloise's last words?" He asked as he wiped his hands clean of the blue gunk spewing out of his own cut of meat. I thought about that as my eyes fixed upon my plate of prickly pink vegetables. "...She said she loved you very much." I replied. He nodded. "They should call you lilac." I glanced at him out the corner of my eye. "Yeah?" He nodded again. "Yeah, 'cause you lie like a rug."

Admittedly... I've never laughed harder in my life than I had right then and there. It was unmistakably very lame, very dull, and very awkward. Still I laughed. And I suppose I'd been wrong to fear Alfred for however briefly. He rested a hand on my back and patted there, laughing a bit himself.

The ship convulsed and turned.

And somewhere in the shadows of the kitchen, an Anthrovian viewed the two of us with unsettling intensity, ominously humming the Star Wars theme song.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hm. You know, I'm terrible at remembering to add the date. And the chapter name. I think I'm going to work on that. -Painfully exaggerated sigh- Anyway. Hope you enjoyed this chappie. A shame Eloise died. That being said, I was pretty sure lugging a giant oyster around would be a bit of a stretch... And I'm way too lazy to think up alternatives. Maybe they could've gotten a wagon for it? On that note.. Just know it didn't really have a gender. I just sort of like the name Eloise. XD Anyway... I hope the story wasn't too hectic or out of place. R&R and all that. **


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